After I got the job at the cafe I had less time to spend with Kindred. We'd still go to the library to collaborate on our graphic novel, but work took first priority for me. Even though Kindred wasn't employed, he treated getting a job like a job. He'd catch the bus or walk to temp agencies, or he'd go to the library to fill out online applications. When we weren't working or looking for work, we'd watch TV together or just sit around talking about our lives. In a way Kindred was my best friend. I didn't want to share my circumstances with even my closest friends, and I didn't feel comfortable coming out to most of the guys in the shelter, so nobody really knew all sides of my life. Except for Kindred. He was one of the few people who knew my sexuality and my residential challenges and accepted me anyway.
About a week after I got the job, I had my first late shift. I was assigned to work the bar at a reception at the museum and didn't get back to the shelter until 11 that night. I made it into the cafeteria to eat before lights-out (I used my food stamps to buy some food at the store on my way back), so there were still some people watching TV with me. One of them was a young guy named Jimmy who was obsessed with Japanese animé and spent all his free time watching movies and playing video games on his laptop. Turning to me he asked, "Hey man, where's your boy Kindred? He wasn't in the mandatory meeting tonight and I haven't seen him." I was so tired that I didn't think much of it. I assumed Kindred had already gone to bed, and said as much to Jimmy.
After I finished eating, I was heading back to my dorm when I heard two staff members talking about a light-skinned guy who left after some heated words with one of them. Immediately my stomach began to sink and I checked Kindred's bunk as I walked past it in the darkened room. It was still made up from that morning, and clearly hadn't been slept in. I stuck my head in the bathroom to see if maybe he was in there--no Kindred. Hoping against hope, I went out to the smoking area outside to see if he'd bummed a cigarette off someone--no Kindred. As I slowly walked back to my bunk I started considering where else he might be. His relationship with his family seemed strained at best--he hadn't reached out to any of them Thanksgiving day and seemed opposed to even trying to do so. He intentionally kept his circle of friends small, and none of them seemed to be in a position to help him. I could only hope he had found a place to stay and wasn't "sleeping rough" under the stars.
From a purely selfish point of view I hated to see him gone because of the loneliness that now loomed large. I knew I'd miss our effortless friendship and the feeling that I wasn't alone in my struggles. As I laid down in my bunk, I said a quiet prayer for him. I prayed that wherever he was, he was safe and warm and confortable; I prayed that he knew how much his friendship meant to me; I prayed that, whatever path he was on, it would lead him to the happiness and peace he deserved.
A few days later the mystery was solved when I got an instant message from a woman on Facebook. Without any preamble, she told me Kindred was in Holly Hill, a local mental hospital. She told me he wanted my number so he could call me directly. When I got him on the phone he explained that his recent efforts to secure disability (on the basis of mental illness) had backfired and he'd been involuntarily committed. Turns out he was a more convincing actor than he'd anticipated and was "diagnosed" as bipolar. His reaction to this diagnosis was the basis for his involuntary committal. He spent two weeks going to counseling sessions and trying to convince them that he was okay to cut loose before they finally agreed. Kindred never again mentioned the possibility of getting disability on the grounds of mental illness. I guess he figured he'd lived enough of the real thing and didn't want to play that game anymore.
